Lingering Feelings
by Flyingwiththeflock425
Summary: Sadie leaves Lars for Onion, leaving him heartbroken and depressed. But what will become of him when he meets up with an old friend by chance and they reconnect in a plot to win back Sadie's love? Will romance bloom in unexpected places? Ronaldo/Lars.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: HEY CUPCAKES! Back w/ some more yaoiz** **sorry for the long wait, irl has been kicking my sorry bum! And my mom took away my devices for a week after she saw me reading yaoi, I can't believe her! Anyway, today I'm writing based off of a yummy prompt given to me by cat-luvs-yaoi on deviantart. It's Larz x Ronaldo, with Sadie out of the way.. lol that bitch.. well, here you go! Reviews make me update faster :D ~Maddycake123**

The old house, with its wildly overgrown garden, was silent, secretive, and surrounded by a stagnant atmosphere. It hadn't always been like that. Once, the home had been perfectly looked after, despite the only residents being two teens. It was clean and orderly, a garden of flowers blossoming each spring and returning the next. In script, the words on the mailbox read Lars & Sadie. The couple living there were childhood sweethearts. They had been born within the same year in beach city, and consequentially grew up side by side. They had had their differences throughout the years, but still the passion in their friendship burned strong. Until they took summer jobs in the same little shop.

From there, as expected, the childhood friends took their relationship to a whole new level. They lived happily until they married at age 19, and their relationship continued on for several joyful years until their messy breakup at 26- a breakup that would leave Lars wounded and untrusting for years to come.

It was raining. Sadie was at work late, a result of her boss demanding overtime- or so she'd said. In hindsight, Lars shouldn't have believed her. She literally owned the big donut she was her own boss what the fuck. Anyway, Larz was in the safety of their kitchen, cooking pasta for dinner. Sadie's favorite. As the rain poured down on the roof and pounded on the windows, Lars began to grow anxious. Where was Sadie? In this weather, would she be alright? A storm was obviously brewing, and a serious one at that. Making up his mind, Lars grabbed his keys and threw on his coat, not even bothering to take off his 'kiss the cook' apron that his best friend Ronaldo had given him for his birthday.

His car spluttered to life as he frantically turned the key in the ignition, slamming on the dashboard impatiently. Down the winding roads he skidded, pushing the limits of his beat up Toyota Camry. Lars pulled into the parking lot and rushed into the big donut- only to see Sadie kissing another man.

He stood frozen in the doorway, soaking wet, mind frozen as they kissed. It was Onion. "I love you~" she murmured, hand clutching his face. Lars backed out of the shop and ran back to his car, sobbing violently. He couldn't believe it. He didn't want to. Sadie? His Sadie, cheating? Never. Never in a million years. But she hadn't even turned away from her lover when the bells on the door jangled, signaling Lars's arrival. She hadn't even noticed the supposed love of her life as she betrayed him. I love you. I love you. I love you.

He could think of countless times she'd uttered those words to him. Smiling, gap toothed and young. _I love you, Lars_. The first time they kissed. _I love you._ When they moved into together. _I can't imagine loving anyone but you, Lars._ On their wedding day.

But now those words seemed empty. Meaningless. And all of those find memories smashed into one single moment, one single sentence uttered- Her hand caressing Onion's cheek, fingers intertwined with his, and her back turned to Lars. _I love you._ Lars coughed, sobs of disbelief and raw pain evident in his cries. He shuddered, and when he was all cried out, returned home. As he drove away, he could see Sadie and Onion holding hands and leaving the Big Donut.

She didn't come home that night. Two weeks later, she left him. And 3 years after, he was still waiting.


	2. Chapter 2

Sunlight streamed in through the window and lapped at his eyelids, intertwining threads of dreams with groggy early morning thoughts as he struggled to gain consciousness. Groaning, Lars fumbled at his bedside table for his glasses, and he slipped them up the bridge of his nose with ease. His eyes adjusted to the change rather slowly, and Lars wondered if he was due for another visit to the eye doctor. His vision, to his complete discontentment, was worsening again. He'd been through four prescriptions in the last year, and he wasn't looking forward to making the trip over to the next town to get another one.

Beach City didn't have an eye doctor. Beach City didn't have a lot of things. The bud of migraine was germinating within his head, steadily growing and pounding in his skull to the beat of a tune long forgotten. His recent eyesight issue was becoming a strain on his bank account, and with the extravagance of his home, Lars couldn't see how he was going to pay for everything. He rubbed his temples sourly. Maybe he could sell the house, and get a nice apartment, just for him. Just for him and no one else.

Lars was tired. Tired of coming home to an empty house every night, tired of the constant heartache, tired of the memories wrapped up in everything he owned and how they weighed down on his heart like an anvil on his chest. He wanted to start fresh. He wanted to start anew in a foreign place where nobody knew him and nobody shot him looks of pity for something that had happened _years_ ago, and no one stopped him on the streets with concern lacing their voices as they murmured kindly, ever so kindly, _Lars, dear, how are you holding up? Are you taking care of yourself? Honey, you know you're welcome anytime if you need to talk_ -

Anyway.

He hated it. Hated it all. He'd leave his house to get some fresh air, maybe show up at a party or a town meeting, and everything would be fine, and everyone would be acting normal, liming around and bantering casually when out of the blue someone would accidentally mention _her_ , and everyone would go tense and everything would be awkward and silent and suffocating and someone would get jabbed in the ribs with an elbow for bringing up the goddamned fucking elephant in the room, and they'd all turn to him with these looks of sympathy he couldn't stand. Tentatively, reaching out with tendrils of cautiousness leaking from their gazes and dripping from their voices like thick, syrupy honey, someone would speak out.

 _Lars- are you alright?_

Are you alright? Are you alright? Are you alright?

Their words echoed in his mind like a broken record and he wanted to scream. No. No, he was not alright, and he wasn't sure if he ever would be, and it was years later and she was gone and when she left she had taken a piece of him with her, leaving behind a gaping hole that no amount of anti-depressants could fill, and he was empty empty empty empty empty empty emp

 _Are you alright?_

No.

A tight lipped smile. "Of course I'm alright! I'm… okay. Really, it's fine."

It seemed to everyone as if Lars was most of all trying to convince himself of that vacant lie, and the fun was always halted so he could collect himself while a warm hand rubbed circles into his trembling shoulder blades, and they could all make sure that his fragile, delicate feelings weren't harmed before the conversation could hesitantly start back up again, never quite reaching the easy flow it had earlier spun throughout the space with laughter now muted, smiles diluted, and worrying looks shot his lonesome way every so often as he sulked, alone alone alone. _How_ _Pathetic._

He wanted to shout. He wanted to toss away his dignity, to drop the facade and throw a tantrum, cheeks splotchy and vision swimming, he wanted to sob like a child and yell at them to leave him alone, he wasn't alright, so stop asking, and did it even really matter? Would talking about his feelings like he was in fucking group therapy bring her back? Would anything?

Lars yearned and dreamed for the day to come when he could break out of the lie he'd weaved himself into, neat as the cursive in Sadie's goodbye letter, and just vent. But he couldn't. He knew he couldn't. He wasn't a hotheaded teenager anymore, although he'd never truly stopped caring about things more than he should've. Some things never changed, and that, he recalled with a bitter smile, was a facet of his personality Sadie had always adored.

She'd loved it, loved _him,_ and all the little quirks that made him Lars, but clearly not enough to stay faithful, apparently. Either way, no matter what small things still remained within him from the past, he'd matured since his first serious relationship, changed. Was he going to muck that all up because he couldn't deal with a bit of friendly concern? He wasn't _that_ low. Not yet.

Dully, back in his room and back with reality, Lars sat thinking. Maybe he really _should_ sell the house. He shot up like a bullet, knees wobbling unsteadily with the sudden shift of weight, and began to pace. His brows furrowed and he stared down at the blurred image of his own bare feet. He _really_ needed a new prescription.

Lars imagined leaving Beach City. He imagined trimming the forgotten garden all nice and pretty, cleaning up the gutters and brightening up the atmosphere. He saw himself calling up a real estate agent with a loud voice and a toothy smile and together they'd coerce some poor fuck into taking the house off his hands, and he'd disappear off into a brand new town with a quiet neighborhood of people who'd keep to themselves and be _blissfully_ unaware of memories that were his business and his alone. They'd refrain from asking questions, and frankly, they wouldn't give a shit about whether he was alright or not. He could see it with such clarity that he nearly lurched towards the phonebook to set his plan into motion.

But he didn't move. He knew he could never do it of course. Not in a lifetime. Beach City had nothing- not a college, not an eye doctor, hell, it didn't even have a permanent population of over 25. It was a shitty little tourist town resting off the map and out of sight until the summer months when vacationers would drive into town and let their worries fall away for a fun week of beaching it up!

Beach City had nothing. But at the same time, it was everything to him. He barked out a harsh, clipped laugh at his paradoxical thoughts. No, he wouldn't leave. That he knew for a fact.

He'd always just end up crawling back to the place that rooted him down with memories and pain and happiness and oddities and dreams and dreams and dreams. Sadie had left. But he was going to stay, and he wasn't really sure what that said about him. Weakness? Strength? Neither?

Both?


End file.
